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I was eating a cracker and looking out the window

watching leaves break away, carried away

on the wind chaotically struggling to do something akin to flying

then interrupted again and again by the black concrete

and I felt sad, staring at decay so brilliantly displayed

like some Jackson Pollock painting with colors spotted

and peppering with each new addition

it felt like an invitation to relinquish, but be not in control with a purpose-

that’s a distinction, right?


I still have no answer to Fall when it asks every year

what are you willing to give?

though I know nothing is ever wasted

I know I have a hard time letting go

and seasons just happen, they don’t wait for permission

so there’s one lesson I still have left to learn

as I’m relinquishing control for meaning

treating it as something ineffable, like a divine name

or the shapes you see when you close your eyes

or the background color in memories

everything, as far as I can tell

is painted and feels like wind. 

Fall, Again

Not long has passed, but enough

is enough I’m not trying to rip apart

anything that might be

nice and what you want, but

I want to brush you away

as if running my hands through lavender 

and taking only what is given


(the sweetest scent).

You don’t know yet just how 

audacious and roused I can be

and when i act silly it is as a jester

meant to make you laugh in brilliance

because i think your laugh is brilliant-

or is it just you? 

Or is is just my romantic thoughts? I don’t mind 

if my vision of you breaks into a harsh reality,

it is the same as the magic

of the sublime, the Pacific

the soul (a metaphor, my dear) all simultaneously 

consisting of a thrashing mixture of up and down and

of fear and ecstasy: do you understand

what i mean? It’s a feeling like a poem

simple and cryptic

that I don’t mean you to interpret

and I don’t mean to stare

I swear

I’m just floating lazily on top

of the waves akin to a dance-

nothing on purpose just swaying

lovely like you do. 

the Sweetest Scent

Cruel double negatives you don’t know what I mean

Just know that I don’t give no damn ‘bout no California King

chopsticks and chicken scratch I keep a fine line with my elegance

cheap clothes and calloused hands keep me cradled up like ice baths

knees deep business boy bopping out while I still got a choice

Jack-K gonna hit the road trade my motorbike buy a mini van

might do it just to say I did- might make mexico my mission kid

maybe you didn’t catch all that so let me say while I still got a chance

Corporations and Churches keep claiming cheap reliefs 

and I aint mad or nothing but at the top I saw it all unravelling

like string cheese, like a dark blue bourbon moon shine 

shining blindly fiddler on the roof


sing to me while I sing to you something fresh and free and full of proof 

Something Fresh

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